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PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY. VOLUME 11. gtortnj. For tho Georgia Collegian. Leaves upon the River. While gazing on the flowing stream, Fast thoughts diverse, flit through my brain; Leaves falling from the parent stem, Create of them an active train, Kecalliug men; wlion wand'ring on, My mind reverts to leaves again. The leaves have fallen, one by one, Detached from long-companioned branch; So men from life and friends must part, Upou the unknown river launch, While those who stay to battle on, Their wounds with Time and Faith must staunch. In tangled masses, closely joined, Or singly drift, leaves onward go, Hy no strong motive power of self, But by the river's coaseless flow, They’re swept on slowly with the tide, The canopy of trees below. If from the eddy near tho bank, They chance to take their winding flight. ’Tis only that engulfed within The rolling stream’s rosistless might, They passively are hurried on, Controll’d by power, not will or right. ’Tis so with vacillating men, Whose bosoms with no thoughts are rife Os emulating manly deeds. The “ Bea hero in the strife,” Fails to arouse them from their sleep. And nerve to free and vig’rous life. Alas! how few with pride arise, To strive with firm and true manhood ; Not with a pride for what we own— Not with a pride of race or blood ; But with a consciousness of right— Pride for tho talents God bestowed. Let us not be with others borne, Nor yet rub roughly 'gainst the bank ; But gently swerving from the rest, Both by and for ourselves make rank, Smoothly, though boldly onward tread, God and our brains alone to thank. Carlos. For the Georgia Collegian. RESIGNATION. TiY MARION. CIIAP. VI. Walter’s voice trembled as he said ‘good'bye,’ to ihe President and his wife. Both of these excellent pat terns of goodness, had been greatly endeared to him. Nor was he alone in regretting their separation; his cheerfulness and respectful demeanor, wi.h bis high sense of honor, had won their esteem and affection. He and Ernest parted with renewed pledges of friendship; and now, t hat his fare wells were all uttered, Walter longer! for the seclusion of homo. On their journey thither, ho wished, yet dread ed, to talk to his mother of his spirit ually fallen condition. He had not read his Bible and prayed as be and Ernest bad vowed to read it and pray; aud he had again fallon into CLIMBING THE HEICNTS. ATHENS, GEORGIA, NOV. 26,1870. doubt. Day after day passed, after their arrival home, and ho could not talk to her. She saw that he was troubled, but would not force his con fidence. Several weeks passed, and he could hear nothing from Irene or her fa ther. He began to doubt Irene ! “Can she reject me so easily, while I would meet and suffer anything for her sake ? Why does she not write, if still true to her vows? But—a truce with my distrust! Can the «oul beaming through those heaven lit eyes bo capable of deceit? No! Sle is truth itself. It is the work of Liarcourt and her mother.” Impatience made the time drag -lowly away; and when September did come, and the day came near when he was to see the idol of his heart, he became more and more rest ess Ho was going to Augusta to study medicine, and made prepara Lions to be absent from home till the next spring Robert had just enter ed College, Nora, would go to a hoard mg school, and his mother would -tay with Mr Head’s kind family till -hey returned in the winter. Hav ing arranged everything, he left home to meet Irene, with the fear that Harcourt and her mother would cause her to disappoint him. Stand ing where he had a good view of the passengers, he watched for the face of Irene—would have entered the car in search of her, but the uncert ainty of being regarded by her as formerly, restrained him. His patience was not long taxed He saw hor leave the train, and look eagerly at the different groups of men standing near. The conductor came for her checks, and asked if she wish ed her trunks sent to the hotel. She thanked him, and said it would noi bo long befo.e she would go on to Augusta, and she would wait in the saloon. Walter came up nearer, and could have touched her as she replied i.o tho conductor, but remained with >ut saying a word. Irene raising her veil, looked once more at the differ ent groups of men. A deep drawn -igh expressed her fear. She was turning to leave the crowd when her eyes met Walter’s She uttered a cry of delight— ‘ I feared you had not come, I know you doubted— ’ ‘ But,’ said she re membering they were surrounded by a crowd, ‘ let us go to the saloon.’ After the first, flush bad left her cheek, Walter saw that she was very thin and pale. Tho linos of suffering were drawn about her beautiful mouth, while those deep, blue eyes showed traces of great anxiety. He took these tacts in at a glance, and tightened his clasp around the small hand within his own. Irene trem bled from excitement, ar.d leaned hea vily on Walter’s arm as they passed on. He asked tenderly, if she was ill. ‘ Oh, no P* she answered quickly. ‘ I am very nervous, and the least ex citement agitates me greatly.’ When they entered the room, Walter left her a moment to procure a cup of coffee, which he thought would quiet her nerves, and serve as a stimulant during the night,that was fast coming on. Irene leaned weari ly back in a large rocking chair till be returned. Walter was soon at her side again, and she now —as they were alone—finished what she began 10 say on meeting him. “ 1 know you doubted my constancy, Walter, and not without seeming cause I scarcely dared to hope yon would meet me ; but now feel amply com* pensated for all that has passed.’ He asked why her father did not reply to bjs letter, and if he was op posed to his addresses. Irene men tioned her father’s only objection, and when they had taken the train, gave him a full account of all that had morning after her ar rival home. Walter thought it would he best leave her yet in ignorance of his altered circumstances, and asked if she would abide the vow renewed in the College grove. She looked trustfully into his eyes and replied, ‘I have given you an undivided heart; it is yours now, and for all time Nothing but.coldness or neg lect on your part, can ever change my feelings. It is true, dear Walter, there may be bitter trials in store for me ; bat to feel sure that you will be unchangeable—constant —will give me strength to endure all; and, moreover, with this assurance, all the efforts made by others to withdraw iny affections from you, will only make the tendrils of love more bind ing.’ Walter could scarcely repress the impulse to clasp her in his arms, and kiss the lip* that uttered those words. He knew she loved him, and for him -elf only; and that no mercenary motives influenced her pure heart. Right here (but for a digression) much c >uld be told the readoj of mer cenary marriages. Yet no more than lie or she and everybody el6o knows alread}\ from every-day ob servation. It is sad indeed, that an every-day truth of so much impors tance to all should be so disregarded. The unhappiness which is the sequel to a ‘ fortune-hunter’s’ marriage, has often been noted by evory one; but TERMS---$2.50 PER ANNUM. NUMBER 8. still all the world would marry the rich—(they truly marry the posses sion, not the possessor). Experience i is ever teaching those to whmn learn- I ing is painful, that it is best to trust in that trite old saying, ‘ Marry for love and work for money.’ Tho moments sped on. Irene and Walter forgot, in their mutual happi ness, that their bliss rested upon the flight of a few hours It was hard for them to part; and at the earnest solicitation of Walter, Irene consented to remain in Augus ta the following day, and occompany him to several places of interest.— They rode out to the Cemerery in the afternoon ; and while passing through this beautiful sanctuary of the dead, Walter’s unbelief east a shadow over his fino features. The beautiful tomb s Lone above an infant, attracted his attention. ‘ Can aught so fair, so in nocent, as helpless infancy perish for ever? And is the short space of mingled joy and pain allotted to the oldest, our only destiny ? Does the grave receive all? Could I seethe dark vault entomb my darling Irene, and feel that the deep passionate love of my heart was centered upon dust only ? Could I believe that my idol was all clay ; and then when her ashes mingled with tho earth around, that all trace of her would perish for ever? Would that heart, so rich in affection; that intellect so lofty; and that spirit so pure, all enter the grave and find there an end? No, no; the Bible is true—there is an after-exis tence —1 feel the truth’— All this passed through his mind, while Irene was talking of the infant’s grave— the infant on earth and the infant in heaven. Its beautiful dust was wast ing there; but its spirit was with God. Walter heard not a word she said. He continued to reason within himself as she stood by his side.— ‘Shall I tell her of my fall ? Will it not lessen her love for me? Am I not practicing deception in withhold ing it from her ? omy mother! my renounced Bible! O Irene!’ Tho last part of his thoughts was uttered aloud. This subject always agitated him deeply, and Irene started back when when he laid bis cold hand on hers and called her name. She led him to a seat near, and in frightened tones asked what was the matter. ‘ Irene,’ said he, his face deadly pale, 4 you have given your heart, your happiness, to the keeping of an infidel. But don’t reproach me; pi ty and help me. You can lead me back. 0, Irene, will you not assist me to rise from my fallen condition V